


Pocket Fluff

by Seilann



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Total Fluff, and maybe a tiny bit of drama, like seriously fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-04-29 12:50:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5128250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seilann/pseuds/Seilann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of pocket-sized fluff stories starring Emil and Lalli.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Forgiven

“Sigrun, _please_ don’t do this to me,” Emil all but whined. His captain, already halfway through the door to the next corridor, looked back over her shoulder.

“What? I gave you Lalli. Don’t be such a wimp.”

“But—”

“Fifteen minutes, ‘kay?” She turned again and vanished around the corner, her last words echoing dully: “I’m sure he can keep you safe _that_ long.”

Emil groaned, magically forgetting for that one moment that Lalli was standing right next to him. That is, until a shuffle of clothes reminded him. “Sorry,” he said, unable to meet his former friend’s eye. “There’s no way she would know, after all.”

“Mrh,” was the reply. Emil guessed it meant something like _I’m still not talking to you_.

Not that Lalli ever did. Even the fact that he hadn’t run off yet surprised Emil. Especially now that Emil had ruined their entire friendship.

The cleanser sighed and turned down their assigned corridor, eyes roving side to side on the lookout for books and grosslings. Only the occasional creak of old wood floorboards followed him and assured him of Lalli’s presence. They reached the end of the hall having found nothing but parlors full of furniture bones and one bathroom with an oversized marble tub. “Looks like we go upstairs, then.”

Again Lalli followed without reply.

Most friendships end because one or the other party can’t keep their mouth shut, or because of jealousy, or because one person says they have to move with their family to Iceland but actually just move a few blocks away and avoid going anywhere the other person goes until one day they get caught hanging out with a bunch of other friends at the cake shop, causing said other person to disown the whole group at once before walking haughtily into a display case and having to pay for every slice of cake that once sat on it… Or so Emil’s experiences had taught him. Not so with him and Lalli. Like everything else about their friendship, its end had been the kind of spectacular failure that could spawn drinking songs.

It wasn’t Emil’s fault Lalli couldn’t understand words — but fine, yes, he _should_ have found a different kind of action to express himself. Adrenaline was no excuse. Elation at being alive with Lalli’s arm around his waist was no excuse. Lalli’s eyes boring into his, silvery blue and intense and entirely focused on Emil despite the blood dripping down his own face, okay dammit it was notnotNOT acceptable but sweet heaven Emil knew that he could live that moment a million times over and never not kiss him. Because for one tiny moment everything had been perfect, the sweetness, the warmth, the beating of Lalli’s heart through his jacket and the elation spreading from fingertip to fingertip, just perfect like he couldn’t even dream.

Which had ended when Lalli shoved him away, shoved him again, and then ran. Now Emil couldn’t get away with so much as patting down Lalli’s hair.

He flicked his flashlight through doorway after doorway. “Just bedrooms up here,” he muttered, mostly to fill the air with something besides silence. He didn’t even know whether Lalli thought the words were still meant for him.

Something fluttered from within a room across the hall. Emil blasted his light inside and tore the knife from his belt. The beam landed on a book, which had been thrown up just in time to protect Lalli’s face from the light. Two glaring eyes peeked over the top.

“Sorry.”

“Phh.”

“Wait. You found a book!” Emil bounded into the room. A slender door stood cracked open in one corner. A closet. He pulled it open to find rows and rows of thick books, each shelf filed two deep. Not exactly a library, but definitely worthwhile. “This is great. These all look so boring, I’m sure even Mikkel will be happy.”

Lalli’s slender hands plucked a book off the shelf. Seconds later, a pouf of dust exploded into the air.

“Seriously?” Emil groaned. They were probably all like that. He turned to his partner. “You couldn’t let me be happy for about five seconds longer?”

Lalli was too busy coughing and trying to swipe moldy dust from his eyes to notice. Emil couldn’t help but smile at his near helplessness.

“Hey, hold on.” He pulled the scout’s hands away from his face and replaced them with a turned-out coat sleeve. “If you just rub it in like that, it’ll hurt more.” He wiped gently from inner corner to outer corner of each eye. Then he automatically reached up to pat the rest of the dust from Lalli’s hair. “Plus this stuff is moldy. If you breathe in too much of it, you might get sick. Mikkel says so, anyway…”

Realization struck and he tore his hand away mid-pat. He’d totally forgotten to keep his distance. Lalli squinted at him with one irritated eye. Was another shove coming? Maybe a punch this time.

“I-I’m really sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Really, I didn’t mean anything by it, I promise.”

The squint unfolded into a look of clear annoyance.

“I know, I already swore to give you space, though I’m pretty sure you didn’t understand a word of it, but a promise is a promise and I'll keep it from now on just please don’t hate me—”

“Tyhmä.”

“What?”

Lalli’s eye roll was all the translation needed. He reached over, took one of Emil’s hands in each of his, and pressed them against the sides of his head.

Emil stood frozen, trying to understand.

Lalli sighed. He moved Emil’s hands in little hair-smoothing arcs; press, smooth, lift, return. Emil’s anxiety became surprise, then relief. “Okay,” he whispered, and even when Lalli let go, he continued the grooming. Lalli relaxed. His eyes slipped closed.

Maybe not all friendships were so easily destroyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, you're all waiting for the final installment of Burning and here I am writing totally unrelated fluff. Well, I needed the fluff, and there is more to come. But Burning is not being ignored! In fact there should be an update this week so hang in there just a bit longer. :) Meanwhile I hope you enjoyed this.


	2. Mikkel's Experiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the crew gets sneaky (thanks to Mikkel) and organize an experiment to find out just how much Lalli likes Emil.

Mikkel was not a scientist, but he had a very scientific mind. Outwardly he inspected the tomes brought to him in varying states of preservation; outwardly he focused on how to make the evening meal palatable to six people’s individual tastes. But in the background of it all he noticed, and analyzed, the minutiae of Emil and Lalli’s interactions.

“You really think it’s a good idea?” Reynir asked him, clutching the kitten to his chest. “I feel kinda… bad. About doing this.”

Sigrun pushed the boy toward their target. “Whatever he just said, tell him it’s a great idea and will be hilarious to watch.”

“Sigrun agrees that the potential benefits outweigh any temporary negative effects,” Mikkel translated. He took the cat and tucked her into his apron pocket. “Now go on.”

 

Lalli struggled not to yawn as he wriggled into his boots. He didn’t have a free hand just now to cover his mouth, and if Tuuri saw him ‘being rude’ then he’d probably get a smack. No matter that there was no one around.

He yawned anyway. Tuuri didn’t hit very hard.

Clumsy footsteps entered the tank from the side door, and an annoying voice chirped, “Halló, Lalli!”

Reynir didn’t waste a breath before launching into a barrage of gibberish. Great. He had probably forgotten that they couldn’t understand each other outside the dream world. Lalli narrowed his eyes and tried to hurry into his second boot. Curse the tight leather!

(Reynir, of course, had not forgotten the language barrier. If he had, there would be literally no force on Earth that could get him to say “royal duck hall car sheep walking baaaa…” as he was now doing.)

After way too much of this Lalli finally got his cords secured and jumped up to leave. Reynir, still talking, blocked his way, then blocked the other way when Lalli tried to slip past.

 _Do you seriously want me to punch you again?_ Lalli tried to say with his eyes. The red-head stopped mid-stream to gasp. This time he let Lalli pass.

Outside, the captain sat with her feet propped up while the Dane stood over the stewpot. The moment she saw Lalli, Sigrun leapt up with a grin.

(Lalli would never know this, but her words as she did so were “Great! Look how ruffled he looks already!”)

He didn’t like the look in her eye. Tuuri smacked for discipline, but Sigrun smacked for enthusiasm, which hurt a lot more. He went to stand near Mikkel, hoping the man’s girth would provide some kind of protection.

No such luck. An enthusiastic “Hei, litt kvist!” and a heavy palm to the back assaulted him at the same time.

Had Tuuri gone around telling them all it was his birthday or something? Her sense of humor was really weird. Lalli just wanted to be alone until it was time to go to work.

Mikkel latched on to the back of his hood as he tried to escape. “Et øjeblik, Lalli.”

“Mrh!” When would these people get it in their heads that he couldn’t understand them?

A bowl of stew was pushed toward his hands. Then a second. “Emil,” the Dane explained, pointing toward the back of the tank.

Lalli took the bowls, waited for Mikkel to drop a spoon into each, and followed the indication. If he couldn’t be alone, being with Emil was the next best thing. As an added bonus, the Swede usually made a nice barrier between Lalli and the others, being easier to communicate with.

(Behind him, Mikkel muttered to Sigrun, “Now we’ll have the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

To which she replied, “What’s a camel?”)

The door to the cargo hold stood open, letting in the orange light of late afternoon. Lalli tromped inside only to find a labyrinth of books before him, with a narrow course laid out for navigation. He could just make out the dancing light of a candle from deep inside. A rustle suggested Emil’s location.

“Hei,” Lalli called in. He didn’t want to risk Emil spilling his food on the books.

But instead of his friend’s voice, Tuuri answered. “Is that Lalli?” The candle light vanished and she squeezed through the passage toward him. “You’re up early!”

“It was really noisy, so I woke up.”

“Noisy, huh?” She looked away sheepishly. “Can’t say I heard anything. But now you’ve got some time! We can teach you some language skills while you eat.”

Lalli looked at the two bowls in his hands, one of which was abruptly taken by Tuuri and set on the food crates. “Mikkel said to find Emil. And he pointed back here.”

She was already rummaging for spare paper and a pencil. “Oh, I think he went up to the cab a few minutes ago. Let’s see, shall we teach you some Icelandic first? Feel free to start eating.” Before he could reply she gulped down a spoonful of Emil’s stew.

Lalli considered just disappearing while her back was turned. He had no desire to learn Icelandic, except maybe the useful things like “go away” and “stop talking.” Tuuri had that look in her eye, though — the one that said she _was_ going to have her way, even if she had to hunt Lalli down and deprive him of sleep. It was the same look she’d had when she first came to him about this trip. So there would be no sneaking away just yet.

Lalli glanced toward the cab. If he had to suffer… “Swedish.”

“Swedish?” For a moment, Tuuri seemed confused. Then, “Oh, you’re right! If you know Swedish then you can understand Sigrun and Mikkel as well! Well, maybe not always Mikkel but better than now. And of course Emil. Poor Reynir won’t be able to talk to you but it will be a while before you really need Icelandic anyway so yeah, let’s start you on Swedish—”

 

Emil plopped down on the bench in the cab, thoroughly confused. Why was everyone shooing him off? Sigrun had sent him off to Tuuri with a devious look, and Tuuri had asked him to search the cab for a spare face mask, which they both knew didn’t exist and which they didn’t even need anyway. When he’d gone out for dinner, which Sigrun was already eating, Mikkel had told him to wait a few more minutes.

So what on Earth had he done wrong now?

The tank’s side door creaked open, then closed. Emil wondered if someone was finally deigning to apologize for their behavior.

The faint but weary footsteps proved to be Lalli. “Wha— Are you okay?” Emil asked as he staggered in.

His friend’s face sagged with mental exhaustion. “Mrh.” He shoved a bowl toward Emil.

“Um… thanks?” The stew inside was cold. Well, it was a nice gesture anyway. Emil took a bite. “There’s something weird going on here, you know. Everyone’s acting strange. But I can’t…aaa...”

Lalli had decided to sit very close to him. Too close? Close enough that he couldn’t make words suddenly. Dammit. Damn. And why was Lalli leaning back against his shoulder?! Emil could smell Lalli’s hair and the soap from his hood. Stew splattered onto his boot. “Um… Are you… Are you… like, comfortable, there?”

There was a pause, and a slow intake of breath. “Best…” Lalli began.

In Swedish.

“I…” He said the word so softly. “…like you… best.”

A moment later, Lalli was asleep. Emil’s food was still cold, still uneaten. And Emil, totally unaware of the context in which Lalli had made his confession, was still the color of a tomato.


	3. 214

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very small offering: a look into Emil's head during page 214.

Years after the fact, and only then, Emil was able to look back and pinpoint the exact moment he’d fallen for Lalli.

Certainly not at first sight. Emil had been too concerned with making a good first impression, and anyway he hadn’t even gotten a proper look at Lalli’s face until they were on the train to Mora. During that leg of the journey, Emil knew he was being judged, and not kindly. Those narrowed eyes staring over the top of the stranger’s collar made him just about have a heart attack.

But then Lalli accepted his peace offering, and it was the first time Emil felt judgement had actually been passed in his favor. Who knew deli meat had such power?

On the Dalahästen, Lalli had offered what seemed at the time to be an uncharacteristically intimate gesture. Yes, yes; it was just a head pat. But even early on that seemed to Emil like a very special gift. It was enough to give him a warm feeling as he settled down to sleep.

But still, all that was just the lead-up.

 

The skinny Finnish guy had just thrown up.

It was out the window, luckily, but wow. Wasn’t he supposed to be a professional? And yet he couldn’t even handle a little motion sickness. That was worrisome; among the whole crew, Emil would probably be working with Lalli the most. _His_ job was dependent on Lalli’s success at his own.

Never mind the “mage” thing, was this guy even a good scout?

A noise at Emil’s elbow made him turn from the window: Lalli whining in his sleep. His face had gone pale with stress, and he trembled.

This was too much! Weren't they the same age? How could a grown man be so helpless?

Another whine, this time with ( _I can’t believe this_ ) twitching.

Emil slid the window closed. Cold air blasting through the room wouldn’t help anything. And if it really was motion sickness, waking up to a vibrating view of a shaky bridge would clean Lalli’s stomach out really well. Emil wondered if the others had any bread on them. That was supposed to be good for settling stomachs.

This guy was going to be so much work.

All the same, he didn’t seem like a bad guy. Weird, sure, but everyone had their issues, right?

A groan. Lalli’s hands shook, almost appearing to paw the air. He might actually be sick. Emil put out a hand, forgetting for the moment that gloves weren’t very conducive to checking for fever. Lalli stilled.

Okay. That hadn’t happened before. Emil quirked an eyebrow, waiting, but the effect held. After a moment Lalli shifted, lazily turning onto his back and settling deeper into the stack of papers he’d claimed for a pillow.

Maybe it was the fluorescent light. The kid needed an eye mask or something, and Emil’s hand just happened to fix the problem. But in that case what was he supposed to do now? He couldn’t take his hand away!

Emil found his eyes tracing the angular outline of Lalli’s cheek and jaw.

Exchanging head pats for eye covers. Hugs for hair fluffs. It was strange how comfortable they felt with each other already. And strange how it didn’t really feel strange. To Emil, at least.

His eyebrows relaxed. So did the corners of his mouth.

“Is this the end of it?” Tuuri’s voice echoed back from the cab.

Emil shriveled under a sour combination of sudden embarrassment, guilt, and confusion. He tore his eyes and his hand away from Lalli’s face.

What _had_ he been doing the past few minutes?

A lot of nothing, he decided, following the others out into the tunnel. It was natural, wanting to be close to someone who — kinda, probably… hopefully? — could become a good friend. And of course he’d have awkward feelings, seeing as he hadn’t had a — well there hadn't been time for friends recently.

Emil gave his hair a quick smooth. He didn’t _look_ awkward, did he?

Sigrun, at least, didn’t seem to notice. “Emil, my right-hand warrior,” she called with a gesture toward the gate mechanism, “lend me your strength!”

Agh. This was going to be so much work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahaha... It's 1:30AM and I teach in the morning and this isn't ready to be published, but here, have some pointless fluff based on a personal head canon.


	4. Reminders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lalli thought Emil understood his quirks, but maybe that's not the case.

Lalli was tired of working double shifts. Between scouting at night and pillaging during the day, he had precious little time for solitude, let alone sleep. The others did what they could to ease the burden. Tuuri had started bringing him his meals, rather than forcing him to eat with the group, and more often than not he would find a cookie or two from Mikkel on the tray. Emil carried the heavier loads during the book runs, and his now habitual grooming of Lalli’s hair sometimes turned into shoulder massages. If Lalli hadn’t been too sleepy and confused to wriggle away the first time that happened, he would be mourning functional limbs about now. Even Reynir had found a way to be useful, carrying messages between the waking world and the dream world when Lalli just couldn’t bring himself to wake up.

All together it was enough to keep him going, but not much more than that.

They stuck to the suburbs these days, to the mansions that even in their ruin seemed to glare down with haughty contempt at the crew’s car-thing. Sometimes Lalli would stumble across an especially pretentious-looking one, all pillars and latticework and stone staircases leading up to fancy double doors, and it would make him think of Emil. Tuuri had told him that Emil’s family must be pretty rich; maybe they had a house like one of these.

“Please, Lalli,” Tuuri begged, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. “Last one. I promise. We just _can’t_ let Sigrun make the run in her condition.”

"Mrh..."

“I know she _wants_ to, but Mikkel says we need to make sure that ankle is healed properly.”

“I don’t…”

“After this you can have a whole day — and night — off!”

Lalli glanced away. “Mhr.”

“Oh, thank you, Lalli!” Tuuri threw her arms around him, the weight and momentum nearly knocking him into the snow. “I really appreciate this.”

Like Lalli was doing her a favor. Tuuri wouldn’t be gaining anything from this, as far as he knew. But she always took things personally, always thanking people and apologizing even when it wasn’t her responsibility to. Too worried about what people thought of her. But Lalli did appreciate her ability to smooth over most situations that way.

Sigrun gave them the run-down, as she had for the past few mornings, with one bandaged leg propped up on a cinder block in front of her. Tuuri translated, sneaking in extra tidbits that she apparently thought Lalli cared about — like that the captain had limped off at the crack of dawn while Mikkel wasn’t looking, only to be found peering through the ground floor windows of the mansion that was today’s target.

“If it wasn't warming up so fast,” Tuuri whispered at one point, “maybe she wouldn't be so anxious about getting a good haul.”

The burden of the good haul, however, was on Lalli and Emil today.

Emil looked happy enough about it; yesterday had gone well for him, with a small troll added to his kill list and complete avoidance of injury, embarrassment, or blood-drenched hair (whichever category that fell into for him). They didn’t quite manage to get any books before the floor caved in and swallowed the whole library, but three out of four was an unusually high success rate for this group. It was nice to see Emil proud of himself for once. He almost seemed to be sparkling in the morning sun.

“Got it?” Tuuri asked. She and the captain were staring at him.

Lalli hesitated, considered telling the truth, and then nodded vigorously.

 

He was so, so tired.

Mikkel went with them, the rucksacks not so much slung across his broad chest as stretched, the crowbar tucked into one elbow as he checked their map. He barely looked up from that little hand-sketched mess, in fact, even though Lalli could lead the way with his eyes closed.

Emil seemed to sense Lalli's mood. A hand touched his shoulder, and when he looked over a sympathetic smile waited for him. “Vi kommer att avsluta på nolltid.”

Something reassuring, Lalli guessed. And somehow it did make him feel better that the usually dramatic Swede was feeling optimistic. He patted Emil’s hand in thanks.

Their target today wasn’t anything special, or even any particular building. Sigrun had chosen it at random off the map. And why not, when every other house in the neighborhood so far had turned out to have a private library? At least one of these giant book rooms had to be safe from ruin, but there was no way to tell from the outside.

Lalli fidgeted while Mikkel crowbarred the door open. The front room was large and smelled like nothing worse than dust, with a fancy white staircase to one side that curved up to an indoor balcony on the second floor. Under the balcony, an arched hallway entrance swallowed the light from the open front door. No trouble to be sensed, yet; didn’t mean there wouldn’t be further in.

At the threshold, Mikkel passed the rucksacks over to Emil with a rumble of instructions. Though the younger man thrust his chin out and replied cooly, Lalli knew Emil didn’t understand much more than he did. He was doing that hair thing again, smoothing it down instead of puffing it up like he did when he felt confident.

“Ja, okay, vi ses senare!” Emil grabbed the bags and turned away, pushing Lalli across the tile floor and into the corridor.

A low “hmph” echoed after them.

While Emil waved his flashlight across the first room, Lalli took a moment to sense for trolls. Nothing nearby. Nothing on the ground floor. A little electric jolt hit him as he probed the floor above — something small, weak, and probably asleep. Not enough of a presence to make him worried, though it would be best to keep an eye on Emil. Just in case.

Just because he was a magnet for bad luck.

Lalli always felt edgy coming into places like this. Sad, dusty, with few escape routes but at the same time too many places for things to hide. The dark he could handle; muted visibility helped him focus through the constant buzz of stimulation and keep from getting overwhelmed. But he preferred the soft dark of night, which was never as dark as the insides of these buildings.

They made their way from room to room. Mildewed paintings were a theme here, as were half-disintegrated white furniture and fake plants in huge glossy vases. Most of the windows had been locked behind folding metal shutters, though a couple of these sat askew or had been torn off completely. Maybe one of them was Sigrun’s doing.

“Aha!” Emil said, swinging the light around the corner at the end of the hall. His voice echoed into a large room of floor-to-ceiling bookcases, plush synthetic sofas, and more fake plants. Heavy drapes covered the windows, so they may or may not have been shuttered; but everything seemed well-preserved.

Lalli found himself more interested in the other side of the hall, where another, narrower stairwell led up into oblivion. He stared at the darkness, letting his eyes unfocus and his other senses take over. Nothing there. And yet he felt uneasy.

Emil had already forgotten about him and run off with the light. Lalli glanced back at where his friend was pulling huge volumes off their shelves by the armful.

Eh, he would be alright. The danger was upstairs, anyway. And it would have to get past Lalli if it wanted to come down.

 

Five minutes. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes he’d been up here, knife in hand, checking every corner and crevice. Yet somehow in those five minutes, everything went to hell.

First, the grossling managed to surprise him. It was his own fault; he let himself feel tired, let his mind wander. He was thinking about his bed, wondering if there were any cookies left in Mikkel’s stash, pining for the next massage he could beg from Emil.

He was in a bedroom, walking past a display case with deep-set cubbies. Candles and knickknacks lay scattered on the floor in front of it. He should have noticed how out of place they were in the otherwise tidy house.

The troll struck in a flash of claws, four limbs, and a freakish triangular mouth that opened sideways. Lalli blocked with one arm as he fell, slashed his knife at it with the other. Bloodlust. Hunger. Claws scraped across his face, narrowly missing his eye. The creature was gone before he had even landed.

Troll, definitely. Type — no clue. Something unique to this weird country? Lalli scrambled up and wiped blood from his forehead. At least the thing was small. It only came to about knee height. Not too much trouble.

A shout from another room. Emil had followed him upstairs.

Lalli ran toward the sound until the hallway opened up before him. He heard a clatter, got there just in time to see Emil’s gun disappear over the side of the balcony overhanging the front room. The troll clung to Emil's chest with its lower limbs. Its upper two clawed at his face. He was barely holding it away, his back bent over the fancy wooden railing.

The Dane was still downstairs. He shouted something and ran for the fallen gun, but there was no way he could aim from down there and not hit Emil.

Lalli was halfway to him when Emil tore the grossling off and flung it over the railing. Something snapped. The hundred-year-old wood split under Emil’s weight.

Lalli didn’t think. Didn’t plan. Didn’t remember that gravity and momentum adhere to certain laws. He tripped forward, flung his arm around Emil’s waist. They fell.

Thank the gods for that clumsy Swede. Instead of falling straight back, Emil’s feet slid out from under him, slamming his lower half into the very floor they had been standing on. Lalli slid with him, his knees cracking on the tiles. He still clutched Emil’s torso, which hung precariously over the edge; but with only half the weight to deal with, he could hold onto the broken bannister tight enough to keep them grounded.

Lalli couldn’t believe they weren’t dead. He stared at Emil and wasn't sure whether to express relief or annoyance because he felt them both equally.

When and how Emil started to kiss him, Lalli had no idea. But suddenly there was pressure on his lips and a gloved hand on the back of his head, and he’d been pushed upright, which was good because he’d forgotten to keep holding the bannister. Emil’s warmth around him. The smell of combustion — sulfur, ashes, hot metal. A strand of golden hair tickling Lalli’s cheek. Crumpled fabric in his fingers. Emil’s heartbeat against his chest. His own blood pulsing in his ears.

Lalli liked Emil. He liked when Emil ran his fingers through his hair; when he gently kneaded the kinks out of Lalli's shoulders; when he stood close and put an arm around him and smiled; when he just sat nearby and babbled Swedish nonsense and didn’t seem to care about being understood. Being understood wasn’t the point with Emil, because they both seemed to already understand the important things.

But this. Lalli didn’t understand this. It was too much at once. Too physical. He couldn’t filter the sensations, couldn’t process them. He pushed away. Then for good measure, to get the point across, he pushed Emil again.

Emil’s eye’s widened with more pain than the push could have inflicted. Lalli didn’t just see it — he felt it. He’d just broken his best friend. If explaining could have done any good, if he could just say, _No, I don’t hate you. I just don’t want_ that _!_

But it wouldn’t help. Nothing would help. He messed up.

A gunshot sent them both scrambling to their feet. Down on the first floor, Mikkel rushed at the writhing, wounded troll and stomped it out of its misery.

That was when Lalli took the opportunity to run.

 

Days later, the torture seemed like it would never end. He couldn’t explain by himself, and didn’t dare use Tuuri, who would surely voice her own unwanted opinion. Every time he tried to make a gesture, like patting Emil’s head or touching his shoulder, he just couldn’t bring himself to complete the motion. Even being near Emil made him feel jittery and embarrassed.

He got his time off, and spent as much of it as possible in the dream world. But whether asleep or awake, his mind was churning to find a solution.

 

Lalli heard his name in the jumble of Norwegian Sigrun was flinging at Emil. Whatever she said, the Swede didn’t like it. But her light disappeared around the corner before he could really protest.

Lalli fidgeted. They were alone. Again. He had to fix this now or maybe he never would.

Emil mumbled something while looking at the floor.

“Mrh,” he answered. It was a start, right? They were communicating. Sort of.

More dark rooms, creaky floors, and awkward avoidance of eye contact. Upstairs, Lalli found some books. Emil seemed excited about them — until Lalli opened one to a huge poof of dust and paper particles. He choked on it, trying to wipe the debris from his eyes only for more to fly in.

“Åh, vänta,” Emil said. He pried Lalli’s hands away. Seconds later the soft inner lining of his coat sleeve brushed across Lalli’s eyelids. When that was done, the same hand reached up to fix his hair, its owner babbling all the while.

This was what Lalli missed: these little displays of affection, of gentleness. All the little ways Emil made him feel like it was okay to be himself.

Suddenly the babble cut off. Emil’s hand retreated. “F-förlåt, Lalli! Jag tänkte inte. Det var inte meningen.”

Lalli had heard Emil’s apologies enough to know that this was one. He didn’t want apologies. He wanted Emil. And he let his face show it.

Emil looked flustered enough to faint. His hands flapped, clutched his face, waved in entreaty.

“Stupid,” Lalli said.

“Vad?”

He’d have to spell it out. He grasped the flailing hands and pressed them to his own head. No reaction. He made smoothing motions. Slowly, Emil’s embarrassment faded and his eyes lit up. He smiled — the first real smile since the kiss. “Okay…”

When Lalli let go, Emil’s hands kept working. Feather touches. Just the right amount of pressure and warmth. Emil did understand him, then. Even if he needed some reminding, that was okay. Lalli would remind him, however many times it took.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently "Swedish nonsense" is a favorite phrase of Lalli's in my head. XD
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	5. Shadows of the Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lalli decides to turn in early, but something won't let him sleep. (big spoon/little spoon prompted-ish by amberlyinviolet and ballistic ducks on tumblr)

The weather in this gods-forsaken country was unbelievable. In just the first few days of their being here the pleasant autumnal bite had given way to a heavy snowstorm, which all but melted away a day later. And now the winds had changed again. They cut at Lalli’s back as he ducked from street to street, and clouds surged overhead from the north. His moonlight would be gone soon.

It was time to go home.

The first snowflakes blew sideways into the door of the tank as Lalli reached it. No beeping from inside — Sigrun must have dismantled that alarm thing again. The door was locked, but a bit of magical persuasion fixed that, and he clicked it open to the sound of three different kinds of snore. Not one of them changed rhythm as he slipped inside. Maybe the captain would be upset when she found out he’d managed to sneak in so easily. Then again, a troll wouldn’t be nearly so subtle.

No Mikkel to decontaminate him. Lalli shrugged off his outers, tossed them under the table (only the Dane knew how that UV cubby worked), and spritzed himself very minimally with disinfectant. Enough to make it smell like he tried, anyway.

He stopped at the entrance to the sleeping quarter. Not just one, but two giants lay strewn across his path: Reynir, sprawled out with an arm and leg halfway in the crawl space beneath Tuuri’s bed; and Mikkel, whose girth took up more or less the entire rest of the floor. Annoyed, Lalli tried navigating through their feet. It took all of three steps to understand that he may as well try to materialize through the floor.

Which left him, again, standing in the entryway with a scowl. The cacophony of snores was already starting to get on his nerves. He looked around for options.

Well, there was the cab.

No, that was too cold. And the snowstorm would just make it colder. He didn’t even have a blanket.

Lalli’s eyes landed on Emil, asleep on his stomach with his face to the wall. Warmth, comfort, and someone who didn’t annoy him very often. The least bad option. He placed himself at the foot of Emil’s bunk and patted one of the sock-covered feet sticking out the end of the blanket.

No reaction. He tapped harder. Held Emil’s ankle between thumb and forefinger and jiggled. Finally he slammed both hands down on the backs of the Swede’s legs and shook.

Instead of the quick reaction Lalli had been expecting, Emil rolled over sluggishly, limbs flopping, and sat up in a daze. “Vad?”

Lalli pointed at his inaccessible nook.

It took a moment before comprehension blinked its way onto his face. He smiled, though it quickly became a yawn, and patted the bed next to him.

Lalli climbed in. It almost startled him how warm the blankets were. Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept beside another human being.

They settled in back to back, shuffled the blanket back and forth until it was even between them, and relaxed deeper into the mattress. Emil’s breathing slowed within minutes, leaving Lalli to absorb and process the new sensations of shared body heat, a beating heart that was not his own, and the gentle ebb and flow of pressure against his back. A wisp of emotion rose in his chest, something not really happiness, not really satisfaction, not really longing. He held onto it, tried to define it. But he wasn’t good with words, even in his head. Eventually the thread of thought unravelled into the haze of sleep.

 

Awake. Terror squeezing his chest. The stove in the far corner had gone dark. Cold air danced above him, left him feeling exposed. He pulled the blanket tighter. Tried to breathe deeper, slower. Couldn’t.

He’d forgotten why he slept under the bed. Hadn’t had to think about the habit in years.

The blanket wasn’t helping. Lalli curled up tighter, screwed his eyes shut, pressed his palms against his ears. Not to block out the snores or the sound of Emil’s breathing. It was the silence underneath, and the screams beneath the silence. It was the roar of the wind and the crunch of deadly footsteps in the snow. It was the sickly pallor of the moon and the creep of rot in the shadows, the skeletal hand of death pushing through the membrane between worlds.

Weight across his midsection. Surprise replaced the fear, and he uncoiled just enough to look over his shoulder.

Emil whispered something, intoned it like a question, but Lalli couldn’t even make out the sounds. Knowing Emil, it was probably something like “What’s wrong?” or “Are you okay?” Equally useless questions. Lalli couldn’t answer the first one, didn’t want to answer the second. Lost, he just did nothing.

The thing about Emil was that he never let Lalli’s silence stand as a barrier between them. Somehow he always knew, if not what Lalli was thinking, at least what he was feeling at any given time. The fact had been a welcome curiosity before; now, as Emil wormed his free arm under and around Lalli’s body, adjusting the top one so he could comb his fingers through Lalli’s hair, it was a blessing. The arms held him tight against Emil’s chest, where that gentle heartbeat persuaded his own to calm down. Emil was a little shorter than Lalli; his breath tickled Lalli’s neck. Somehow even that felt right. Felt safe. He closed his eyes. Breathed deep. Outside, the wind howled against the side of the tank.

Lalli knew he had been safe the whole time. The thing that hunted him creeped only through the shadows of his mind — for now. Hopefully the day it caught up to him in reality was far away.

Hopefully that day Emil would still be behind him, shielding his back from the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you not aware, I'm taking emilalli prompts on tumblr (as Seilannstar) and will be posting the results of those in a separate collection. So hit up my ask box if you're interested. :)


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